Blood Lies

by Sharon K Gilbert

  The tailor took no offence, explaining gently, “I mean no disrespect to your care regarding the welfare of our charge. I wish simply to state what is obvious. The enemy clearly prefers a particular bloodline be united with hers.”

  Risling nodded agreement. “The symbols left at the castle and the cottage indicate this fact, sirs. The staged abduction was intended to lure Lord Haimsbury into rescuing the duchess. And once rescued, he was to take her to the cottage.”

  The earl seemed unsatisfied. “And how then did Redwing expect my cousins to arrive at that cottage, Malcolm? How? How would they know that Charles would become lost and seek refuge at the farm? He could just as easily have returned here with her.”

  Risling smiled indulgingly. “I imagine that was the assassin’s purpose. Murder the doctor before Lemuel could reveal too much and frighten Sinclair into returning to the road with a team of exhausted horses, requiring a stop somewhere along the road. But we all know that Redwing is capable of controlling situations even ‘on the fly’, as the Americans might say. No matter where the marquess drove that night, he would invariably have ended up at that cottage.”

  Charles found this interesting. “Can you explain that, Malcolm?”

  Risling took a sheet of paper and began to sketch out a figure. “Spiritual entities interact with time and space in ways unknown to us. Think of the unseen world of the supernatural as a spider’s web,” he said, drawing out a simple web. “The denizens of this web perceive tugs on a single filament no matter where it might fall, and they move toward it. Now, imagine that same web in more than two dimensions—three, perhaps even four or more. Once Sinclair turned toward the cottage, Redwing’s demonic forces were able to move along the timeline web to a point which allowed them to leave the symbols and contaminate the tea, assuming the woman there didn’t do it. We must not think the spiritual realm is limited to what we mortals can see and do.”

  The men grew thoughtful with this insight, and the duke turned to Kepelheim. “Didn’t you suggest something along those lines to me years ago, Martin? That Redwing’s fallen rulers can either see into the future and divert its path, or else they can alter events that have already occurred? If the enemy can move backward in time, then how can we possibly counter their moves?”

  The tailor patiently replied, “I do not believe they can travel backwards very far, sir, if at all. Perhaps a few moments, but I suspect that they have limited vision into our future, which actually works quite well with Risling’s analogy. A web that reaches across the dimension of time might permit a spiritual spider to detect a tug from a future moment and reach that temporal point to snatch up the hapless prey as it becomes trapped. But ultimately we must put our faith in the Creator of Time, must we not? And with all due respect to Lord Aubrey’s concerns, may we put them aside for a moment and consider the items our marquess discovered in the late earl’s rooms?”

  Aubrey sighed as the tailor removed the letter and small note from his pocket and settled his spectacles onto his nose. “This letter is telling, in many ways,” he said, handing the two page missive to the earl. “Charles found it in Connor’s desk. After the late earl’s death, the duke decided to leave his son’s rooms as they were, for sentimental reasons, but perhaps the Lord inspired it. I find it more than interesting that it is our Charles who uncovered this truth. Connor intended to divorce Patricia. We had suspected as much, but now we have the proof. But it is the mention of Trent that is most unsettling and informative.”

  Paul glanced up from reading the extraordinary letter, handing it back to Kepelheim. “Beth must never see this.”

  Sinclair nodded. “I agree. It distresses me to read these words, and I have no memories of the late Lord Kesson. Elizabeth would find them more than she could bear, I think.”

  Paul handed the letter to Risling. “It would tear her apart. But this letter may actually aid us. Connor did not die from a hunting accident, as I’m sure you now know, Charles. He was torn apart by the same massive grey wolf that chased you upon the road. If that wolf is Trent, then he was directly responsible for Connor’s death, and this letter indicates a link in an evidentiary chain. Might it be enough to bring him in for questioning?”

  Sinclair sighed. “Perhaps, but even if I could convince a judge that Trent is able to turn into a wolf or even control one, most would consider this letter hearsay at best. Connor does not present any evidence for making the claim that Patricia was having an affair with him, nor does he offer evidence that Trent is Redwing. However, he does imply that Beth knows. This would require she testify to what she knows in court. I prefer not to involve her in such matters, if it can be helped.”

  The duke poured whiskys for everyone. “Nor do I, son. Connor had admitted to me that he thought Trish was having an affair, but he never mentioned Trent. Martin, did you decipher my son’s other note?”

  “I did, sir, with Mr. Risling’s aid. He and I spent all of yesterday scouring through our archives for the old keys, and we finally found one that Connor created in tandem with his good friend, the late Lord Haimsbury. As I’ve told you, Charles, your father and Beth’s were very close friends, and both were brilliant when it came to devising ciphers.”

  “But you thought you recognised my name in that note,” Sinclair replied. “Were you right?”

  “Yes, your name is in there. And so is Beth’s. Here is what it says. ‘Father, you must find Charles. He is alive. I have seen him in London. I will not say where, just in case this is found by our traitor. Redwing also knows, and a man named William Trent has already begun to construct plans involving Charles. Robby’s instincts on this were correct. The Sinclair blood is prized, and I’ve seen their plans to marry his blood to Beth’s. Look in Robby’s London house. He’d left a cipher there before his death. I know not where, but I’m sure there are clues if you look. Also, I’ve secreted information in London. If I am killed, you must find Charles. His lost memories are the key to saving Elizabeth. Father, please, if God allows my death, you must keep our Princess safe.’”

  The tailor removed his glasses and drank the whisky in one gulp. “I am getting too old for all this,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Duke, I am sorry for the heartache this letter brings you, but your son’s death must have been a direct result of what he’d uncovered about Redwing’s plans. I have said all along that Charles was taken by that foul group for a reason, and it seems Connor believed it as well. Charles, we must unlock your memories, my friend.”

  Sinclair took Kepelheim’s translation and read it through again to himself. “This says that Connor had already found me,” he said to himself. “I wonder how. James, I do not know how or why my blood enters Redwing’s demonic plans, but I shall do whatever it takes to keep Elizabeth safe. But this mention of a traitor in Connor’s note. Could it be he knew about Lemuel even then?” the detective asked.

  “Perhaps,” the duke replied. “We must find out, for if not Lemuel, then someone else. It is troubling to say the least.”

  The tailor continued. “It is, and whilst it is true that we must rout out any traitors, it is also true that we must not allow ourselves to forget Redwing’s ultimate design! Connor’s message confirms that it is our newly titled marquess, Charles Sinclair, that Trent and his ilk wish to unite with Elizabeth. Your place as her protector, Lord Aubrey, will always be needed, and I believe the dear lady would echo such, but—and I know that I am being presumptive here, so please forgive me—but if it is Charles they insist she marry, then would he not be the safer choice?”

  Paul would hear no more. “No! That is madness, Martin! Assuming this theory is correct, how can we give them what they want? It places both of them in extreme danger. Look what happened to Robby Sinclair and Cousin Connor! I will not allow Beth to follow that path. Not ever!”

  He paused for a moment, and his lean face showed great anguish as he strove to regain control of his heart. “Charles, forgive me. I have come
to love you as a cousin and as a friend, but you cannot know what she means to me. When Elizabeth was born, right here in this house, my father placed her into my arms—so tiny, so indescribably beautiful—and he admonished me to care for her as if she were my own. He and Uncle James had already begun teaching me our true history, about the inner circle and about Redwing, because of my elder brother’s death. I stood there, twelve years old, and I was told that this infant was to be my bride when she came of age.

  “I’m ashamed to tell you how my thoughts and fears often played upon my mind in the coming years. At first, I thought marriage a distant reality and simply watched her grow as any cousin might, but as I matured into manhood, Beth became more like a girl in need of a friend than a lover. I confess that I strayed many times, sowing wild seeds as most men do, but I kept telling myself that Beth would always be there, when I was ready. Watching her fall in love with you, Charles, has been both an agony and an alarm to me. I will not give her over to destruction, and though I would not force myself upon her as husband, it is my hope that she will choose me in the end.”

  Charles marveled at the young earl’s energy and passion. He turned to the duke. “Paul speaks for my heart as well, sir. I would not wish to place Elizabeth in any danger, and if she is safer with him, then I shall agree to that, though I think you know, Uncle, that it would forever tear out my heart. Still, should Paul and Elizabeth marry, I shall remain their friend and do all within my power to keep both of them safe.”

  Kepelheim turned now to the two cousins. “My Lord Aubrey, my new and dear friend Lord Haimsbury, it has been clear for many days that you both wish Elizabeth as bride, but is it not our enemy’s hopes that now dictate her future? No, no, my friends, permit me to finish before you speak again. Think of how the enemy has maneuvered to place Elizabeth into Lord Haimsbury’s life—even murdering her mother so that she might be forced to put her hopes in you, Charles, at so young and tender an age. Certainly, this was the true purpose behind that mad drive described to us by our sweet duchess; a long journey taken by Trent in dark of night, all to place poor Patricia’s body where our policeman friend might find it.

  “Then, how is it this most recent business began? A note signed by—what was it now?—‘Saucy Jack’ is delivered to her very door in a way that shows the enemy has gained easy access to Queen Anne House, which then causes her to fly—to whom? To Charles. This sent us to Branham and thence to our sanctuary here, but is it such, really? No, it was never a sanctuary, but a carefully constructed trap!

  “Even before we left Branham, Trent or someone in his cabal had already threatened Dr. Lemuel with exposure, and that only by agreeing to effect the dear lady’s drugging and abduction could he be assured of their silence. And why? For ransom? Nay, not so. The purpose of his crime was to force Charles to become her sole defender. That, friend Paul, is why you were wounded—to prevent you from being able to rescue her. You are an excellent marksman, but I saw the man who shot you, and I fear he would have killed you, had that been his intent. No, it is the union of Charles and Elizabeth that Redwing wants! Their bloodlines merged into a son—that is what the enemy most desires. It is the final move in a long and treacherous game.”

  “That is precisely why we must not let that happen!” Paul shouted, slamming his palm against the table. “Martin, how can you suggest we do so?”

  The tailor placed a reassuring hand on the earl’s right shoulder. “Because, my dear friend, to best guard our treasure, we must be present to do so. Is that not right? Beth’s safety requires that someone she trusts and who stands against Redwing be always near her. The best way to accomplish this is in the person of husband. If we give them what they want, then Charles will be there to act as everpresent guardian, but if we insist on preventing it, then who can tell what dangers they will inflict upon her, upon Charles, upon you? They have already shot you to remove you from her side, what more might they do?”

  “I have no fear for myself,” he said bravely.

  “This is true, for I have seen it many times,” the tailor continued. “And I know that you would gladly die to keep her safe, but I would speak of something else—another danger that may not have occurred to you. Adele.”

  Paul had not expected this. “What? How could she be a danger?”

  “She is not one consciously, but her presence here acts as a distraction to you and places the good Lady Adele within the enemy’s reach. Forgive me again, but though I suspect you’ve said nothing to Charles, it is vital that he understand that Adele is not only your adopted sister. She is also your daughter.”

  1:13 a.m.

  Elizabeth awoke to darkness. She had slept deeply, without dreams, for which she was grateful, and outside her room, she could hear a soft tapping at the window. Assuming it to be a tree branch in the wind, she rose from her bed and walked to the mullioned panes. No branches stood nearer than a foot away, so she opened the window to see what might have caused the sound.

  Outside, the moon had waned to half her form, but even that soft light in so isolated a world as the Drummond estate lit up the landscape, casting long, deformed shadows across the statuary, exterior buildings, and sloping hills. Her window opened out onto the main entrance, so Beth could see the long gravel drive and the carriage park nearest the front doors. Six men stood sentry there each night—or had been until tonight—but Beth could see no one patrolling the area, and she wondered if the duke may not have altered his usual strategy for some reason.

  Then she saw her.

  It was Adele’s slender form, clad only in her nightdress, walking along the rocky path toward the moors beyond. Della had been prone to sleepwalk as a small child, so Elizabeth feared shouting, but rather threw on her robe and—barefoot—ran out her door and down the stairs as quickly as she could. She hoped to find a footman or one of the other men standing guard in the foyer, but the entire main floor area was empty, and the great oaken doors to the front stood open wide. And it had begun to rain, a sudden downpour that quickly gathered into silvery puddles along the gravel path.

  Without further thought, Elizabeth ran out the front toward Paul’s daughter, terror filling her mind as she wondered where all the men had gone.

  “Della!” she shouted, no longer concerned about waking her from a dream. “Adele!”

  As Beth reached her at last, the girl turned, her blue eyes open and glazed. “Mother?” the girl said, reaching out.

  Beth threw her arms around her. “Della! Wake up, darling!”

  The girl blinked, the heavy rain dripping from her curls and soaking into her thin clothing. “Cousin Beth?” she asked mechanically. “Where is Mother? I saw my mother.”

  “You’ve been sleeping, dear. Come, let’s return to the house.”

  Both turned back toward the doors, but their path was now blocked.

  Before them, stood a huge grey wolf with crimson eyes.

  Instantly, Della screamed—the high-pitched sound piercing the night as it echoed against the clouds overhead. In response, the gigantic wolf lunged forward several yards, close enough now for Beth to see its hot breath hang like a misty ghost upon the cool night air.

  “Darling, you must do as I say. Exactly as I say. Get behind me,” Beth instructed, praying someone inside had heard the child’s loud scream. Though she knew it not, the meeting had only just adjourned in the soundproof library, otherwise, no one inside would have heard.

  The girl moved behind her cousin.

  “Good,” Elizabeth said evenly. “Now, I am going to turn ‘round, very slowly. The wolf will also move, I pray, and as it does, it will clear your path to the front door. Now, I want you always to stay behind me, and when I say run, Della, you must do so, as quickly as you can, all the way into the house without stopping. Do you understand?”

  Terrified into near paralysis, the girl’s arms held tightly to Elizabeth’s waist, but she nodded and whispered, “Yes.
I will run—but you must run, too!”

  Beth knew the wolf had come here for her, luring the girl into danger in order to force the duchess into coming outside, so it was her hope that it would leave Adele alone.

  “I shall run, but do not look back or wait for me, darling. Focus only on the door when you run, and if the wolf follows, you must shut the door behind you!”

  “But...” she objected.

  “Do as I say, Della. I shall be fine.”

  All this time, Elizabeth had very carefully kept her eyes locked on the wolf’s intense red-eyed gaze, and she had slowly turned it so that it now faced the house, as she had hoped, putting as much distance betwixt Adele and the creature as possible, and clearing the child’s escape to safety.

  Adele now stood thirty feet from rescue, and Beth prayed silently before telling her to run.

  “All right, Della. Be brave, darling. Turn very slowly now until you are facing the door.” She paused, listening as the girl’s bare feet turned on the gravel. “Are you facing it?”

  “Yes,” the girl replied, her entire body trembling.

  “All right, get ready to run at my command.”

  Elizabeth blinked for a second, took a deep breath, and then focused all her energies upon the wolf’s red eyes.

  “Now, Della, run!”

  Della’s legs blurred into motion, and gravel flew as her small feet dug into the muddy path toward safety.

  Beth stood her ground, holding the wolf’s gaze, daring it to move. Her small hands shook, and her heart pounded as the rain soaked her night clothes and robe, but she raised up her arms and challenged the supernatural predator. “I will not surrender; do you hear me? I know who you are, I know what you are, and I will not allow you to hurt anyone I love! You may devour me, but you will not harm that child whilst I have breath! May our Lord Christ help me now, I will not!”

  The wolf stared at her for the briefest of moments and then suddenly lunged forward, its massive teeth bared to tear into her flesh. Beth shut her eyes, expecting to feel its fetid breath and sharp fangs upon her neck as she fell to her knees, but instead two strong arms swept her into a desperate embrace as a hailstorm of bullets flew past, all hitting their target.